


Lugubrious

by Mrs_Monaghan, takesguts



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Drama Drama Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Marriage, More tags to be added, Multi, Yoga Instructor Ian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 06:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Monaghan/pseuds/Mrs_Monaghan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/takesguts/pseuds/takesguts
Summary: Ian's life is normal, Ian's life is routine; a nice house, a big city, money, and a new husband. Ian's life is incredibly boring. Somehow, some way, something has to change.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO, SO. WE DID A COWRITE. WHOOPS. 
> 
>  
> 
> Except, not rly! Cause we are excited! Ian's a yoga instructor! AHHH. PLZ ENJOY.

"Use the center of your heels," Ian cues, slowly walking the perimeter of the studio, eyes on his students, "ground down to lift your hips higher."

 

 

  
The class is a collection of women, mostly - from young college girls to middle aged housewives - but the trend is the same. As the only male teacher at the studio, his classes consist of only females who love nothing more to be assisted during practice by him. At first, it had been a little flattering, a little embarrassing; the way he overheard some of the students referring to him was downright vulgar but Ian was not one to pass up a compliment when one was being handed to him. As a new teacher, it was definitely an ego boost to have some of the higher volume classes within his first few weeks of beginning, regardless of the purity of his yogi's intention.

 

 

  
Now, however, as time progressed and the women who gossiped crudely about him behind his back now developed the familiarity and confidence to hit on him to his face.

 

 

 

He guides the class through the igniting sequence, sharing words of encouragement, artfully ignoring the awkward press of one of his students hips while he assists her in a back bend. His husband had warned him, when he first expressed his interest in teaching yoga, had laughed about all the potential harassment he would receive. Ian genuinely had thought it wouldn't have been so bad. He was wrong.

 

 

 

At the classes finish, he spends an agonizing amount of time bidding goodbyes to each and every student who attended, all of them demanding his attention one after the other, smiling and laughing flirtatiously. By the time he's alone, his biceps have been stroked at least sixteen times and his cheeks are a little warm from the lewd caress of eyes undressing him. But aside from all the women undressing him with their eyes, and the constant catcalls and come ons, Ian does indeed love his job. It's something he is good at, embraces as a lifestyle that brings him jo. It also provides him with a little of his own money, which he loves despite his husband insisting he doesn't need to work. He's always been independent,and staying at home doing nothing just doesn't work for him.

 

 

  
After the door is locked, and a quick thirty minute sequence of his own practice, Ian is preparing to head home to his husband -

 

 

  
Who is, coincidentally, no longer able to make it home in time for dinner, Ian discovers as he finally turns his phone back on the apologetic text message being the first thing he sees. Sighing audibly, Ian puffs his cheeks out, bag slung over his shoulder and he starts heading in the opposite direction of home. The lingering disappointment isn't nearly as harsh as it used to be, is no longer accompanied with insecure fantasies or fearful anxieties. That doesn't mean swallowing the realization is any less bitter.

 

 

  
Ian doesn't drink anymore, but a girl who attends his classes occasionally works at a bar a few blocks down that has some incredible wings. It's a relatively new place, owned by three individuals who were in a polyamorous relationship which fascinated Ian endlessly.

 

 

  
When he enters the bar, it's only him, the girl from his class - Mandy, and the one owner Svetlana. They're sitting on top of the bar, sharing a beer, and Mandy is complaining loudly about something which isn't unusual. It's weird, though, the way she stops speaking when Svetlana nudges her, gesturing toward Ian's approaching.

 

 

  
"Bad time?" Ian asks lightly, suddenly feeling a little awkward. Him and Mandy they aren't - well, they aren't friends-friends yet, but Ian is pretty sure it's heading that direction. He likes Mandy; she's snarky and funny and a little ill mannered, but she reminds Ian of his family in Chicago and it's a nice reminder. It would be nice to have friends.

 

 

  
"Girl stuff," Mandy replies easily, "some midday conversation about the natural shedding of uterine linings."

 

 

  
"Ah," Ian says gravely, "I should have paid better attention to the time."

 

 

  
Whatever it was, Ian's not about to be nosy about it. He lets her off the hook, isn't paranoid enough to think it was about him, so he lets it go. Within seconds the weirdness of the moment passes and the three of them fall easily into their routine banter. Svetlana is almost funnier then Mandy, in that cut throat kind of way, and privately she scared Ian a little with the constant serious set of her jaw.

 

 

  
"How is Sugar Daddy?" She asks, bouncing her eyebrows and casting a glance at Mandy. Suddenly, Ian maybe isn't sure they hadn't been talking about him before.

 

 

  
"Husband," Ian corrects, unimpressed; it was something the duo ribbed him on endlessly once they had figured him out. Recently his argument had been to complain about the lack of artistic creativity in the content of their jokes, but he didn't think it was really landing.

 

 

  
"Sugar Daddy Husband," Mandy supplies, setting her feet down on one of the barstools, rocking it back and forth.

 

 

  
"Seriously," he says, swirling the straw around in his empty glass of water, "you have nothing else? Not one other thing about me to move on to? I would be flattered if I weren't so concerned about the possible stunt in growth of your wit."

 

 

  
Narrowing his eyes he takes the straw out of the glass, pointing it accusingly at Svetlana, "And you, you have a wife and a husband. Who are you to judge, Mrs. Modernism?"

 

 

  
Snickering, the two elbow each other roughly a couple of times; it even gets as far as a few forceful shoves as they start to cackle.

 

 

  
"You sure are sensitive for a ginger," Mandy teases, reaching over to refill his water.

 

 

  
"One of the first things you should tell people about yourself is that your charm comes with an expiration date," he deadpans, "really let them make an informed decision, you know."

 

 

Mandy rolls her eyes, "So, Mr. Yoga, why are you here and not home to your _husband?_ " she enunciates the word, clearly intending to keep making fun of him. "If our company doesn't suit your reformed taste?"

 

 

She's joking, always joking, but it was a judgment he had previously faced with his own family, before he got married. Just because his husband was rich, that didn't make him Ian's sugar daddy. He huffs, mouth twisting down, "There's nothing wrong with passing by a bar before heading home."

 

 

  
"Bar where red head spends most nights with us, yeah?" Svetlana presses, eyes just a little mean.

 

 

  
"Oh, you know what," he rants, waving his hands exasperatedly, "here I am, thinking I'm doing my due diligence by supporting your establishment. Next time I want a cheese steak, I'll remember to go somewhere else."

 

 

  
"We are just concerned for your well being," Mandy calls, as Ian heads for the door, "shouldn't be spending too much time with miscreants like us."

 

 

  
Ian flips her off, exiting the door.

 

 

  
\- - - - - -

 

 

 

 

  
Something Ian still hasn't gotten used to is the heat; Chicago summers could be unbearable, of course. Sticky, humid, and suffocating, but carried a few months of polar opposite frigidness and snow. Los Angeles has no change in season, not really, no break from the sun and warm air. The air conditioning in his home is always running; it's the middle of November and all Ian would really like is just a little bit of windchill.

 

 

  
He sighs as he opens his front door - with a passcode, not a key, and drops his mat on the floor in a true lazy habit. Mindlessly, he heads for the kitchen to peer into the fridge even though he knows he's not hungry. Besides, all he left for himself was a kale smoothie and, well, he thought he would be going out. Sighing again, louder and more deliberate, he shuts the fridge and makes his way down the hall, to the steps of the basement.

 

 

  
This morning he went for a run, and he's stretched and warmed up from his own practice at the studio. He tries to not push himself too much in a day, will alternate work outs throughout the week, but now that his plans for the evening were no longer he can't think of a single reason not to lift. All of his friends are his husbands friends, and while Mandy and Svetlana were just about there, they were right; he couldn't spend all of his time hanging around their bar.

 

 

It made him feel embarrassed, in a way, that they knew why he stopped by so often.

 

 

  
Frustration pricked at the corners of his eyes, the edge of his jaw and he grit his teeth at the first set of weights he picked up. A little too heavy for a warm up, but the irritation seeping into his skin egged him on.

 

 

  
Leaving his family in Chicago had been exciting at first; while he knew he would miss them terribly, a change in pace and scenery felt like just what the doctor ordered. It had been thrilling, the first couple of months, learning the streets of a new city, freshly married. Everything in LA was so high fashion, so trend oriented, glamorous in a way even the North side of his own city lacked.

 

 

  
A year and a half later, and LA just feels fake, plastic, and stale.

 

 

  
Ian allows himself to get lost in his reps, not paying attention to time, or the number of sets he's doing. His arms are burning, the muscles across his chest and shoulders twitching. He goes until his entire upper body is screaming in protest, shaking with the effort to continue and he only stops when the weights drop from his hands with the inability to do anymore, narrowly missing his toes.

 

 

  
For a long time he sits there; it's quiet, the whole damn house is so quiet. Outside the city lives, thrives and Ian stays inside, remains a complete stranger.

  
\- - - - -

 

 

That night, he sleeps in one of the guest rooms his siblings stayed in when they came to visit - the same first, and last time. It's been cleaned since then, but there's some posters and pictures they brought for personal touch.

 

 

  
It feels more like home then any other part of the house.

**Author's Note:**

> Most likely, this fic will alternate POVs. Haven't really decided on a posting schedule; LuckyShaz is way more timely then I am (I tend to be p lazy, sorry guys) BUT. I promise you it will be worth it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for stopping by! Namaste!


End file.
